[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 210: The hunt has begun.

Chapter 210: Chapter 210: The hunt has begun.

Lucas went still beside Trevor, the words cutting through the bright hum of the hall like a blade through silk.

Trevor’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on Lucas’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly. "Poison?"

Dax’s smile faded into something colder, his violet eyes gleaming like sharpened glass.

"A servant intercepted it," he said, tilting his head ever so slightly toward the far edge of the hall where the shadows seemed deeper than they should have been. "A glass intended for me. Or, perhaps, for your husband, depending on how carefully the order was given."

Lucas’s breath caught, but he didn’t let it show beyond the faintest narrowing of his eyes. "And the one who offered it?"

Dax’s gaze drifted briefly to the sealed case now in the hands of one of his guards, then back to them. "Taken. He’s screaming his innocence somewhere quieter." His voice was calm, almost gentle, but there was a thread of dark amusement beneath it, a promise that the man would speak before the night was over.

Trevor’s mouth curved faintly again, but there was nothing soft in his eyes now. "I’d offer my apologies for the lack of hospitality," he said smoothly, "but somehow I don’t think you mind a little excitement."

Dax let out a low laugh, quiet and rich, though his gaze never left Trevor’s. "Not at all," he murmured. "But tell me, will you and your husband enjoy the rest of your evening knowing that somewhere in this hall, someone thought you both better off dead?"

Lucas’s green eyes met Trevor’s storm-dark ones briefly, and in that heartbeat of silence between them, the celebration around them felt just a little too loud, a little too bright.

Trevor’s smile deepened, slow and dangerous. "Oh," he said, voice smooth as glass, "I think we’ll manage."

But as he guided Lucas subtly back toward the crowd, his grip was still steady and firm, and Lucas could feel the quiet promise in the press of Trevor’s hand: whoever tried, they would regret it.

—

Dax watched them go, the corner of his mouth curling faintly as Trevor guided Lucas back toward the gilded center of the celebration.

The Duke’s stride was steady and smooth, without a hint of tension visible in his shoulders, but Dax had been in too many courts and too many wars not to recognize the sharp awareness beneath that calm.

Trevor wouldn’t act here, not tonight, not when all eyes were on him and the Grand Duchess, but Dax knew without a doubt that every thought behind those storm-dark eyes was already turning like a blade.

’Good,’ Dax thought, letting the faintest smirk pull at his lips as he reclined in his chair, swirling the fresh wine poured for him. ’Stay busy with your wedding, Fitzgeralt. I’ll handle the rest.’

The celebration swelled on. Toasts rose like waves, laughter rippling through clusters of silks and uniforms, and musicians shifted to a softer set as couples began to drift onto the wide polished floor. Dax played his part with ease, accepting compliments, offering dry remarks that set nobles laughing just a little too loudly. He moved like he belonged in every gilded inch of the hall, his presence commanding enough that no one questioned the shadows of guards tucked discreetly along the arches behind him.

An hour passed. Then another half, measured by the slow procession of courses, by the subtle shift in the crowd’s energy as the formal edge loosened into the velvet of true revelry.

And then, without drawing attention, Tyler Bell appeared at the edge of the dais.

Tyler moved like the shadow, immaculate in his tailored black, hair slicked back with surgical precision. Dax’s gaze found him instantly, and with the barest flick of his fingers, Dax dismissed the cluster of nobles at his side.

Tyler waited until the last well-wisher stepped back into the glow of the chandeliers before leaning in, his voice pitched so low it wouldn’t carry beyond the table.

"Your Majesty," Tyler murmured, eyes sharp, unblinking. "The Malek file."

He placed a slim, black-leather folder onto the table, its corners perfectly aligned, as though the weight of the information inside hadn’t already set fire to every word of Dax’s attention.

Dax let his fingers rest on the cover for a moment, violet eyes narrowing as though savoring a wine before tasting. The hall spun on around them, oblivious, Lucas was laughing at something Trevor had murmured in his ear, Serathine was already scheming with Cressida near the far arch, and the Imperial photographers were capturing every glittering second.

But here, at this quiet corner of the dais, Dax flipped the folder open with the care of a predator unsheathing claws.

Tyler’s voice was quiet, even. "Christopher Malek. Twenty-six. Registered as beta."

A pause. "That’s a lie."

Dax’s mouth curved slowly, the faintest flash of teeth in the chandelier light. He did not look up from the page.

"Go on."

Tyler’s words were soft but precise as a scalpel. "Secondary traces suppressed since adolescence. Cross-checked with private medical labs. Every result was buried or tampered with by outside channels. He’s been running from it for years."

Dax’s fingers stilled on the edge of the page. His violet eyes lifted at last, cutting through the golden haze of the hall like a blade through silk.

"And now?" he asked, voice quiet, velvet-smooth, but dangerous.

"Unmarked. Unbonded," Tyler replied. His gaze didn’t flinch. "Dominant. Confirmed. He lives under the radar, doing freelance work only. No permanent contracts. He moves constantly. Even his family doesn’t know."

Dax closed the folder slowly, the snap of leather on leather lost beneath the swell of music and laughter. His expression smoothed into something unreadable, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth as if the information pleased him more than he’d expected.

"Where is he now?" Dax asked softly, already knowing the answer.

"Still here," Tyler murmured. "Working the north wing tables. He hasn’t bolted. But he’s alert."

A pause.

"Shall we move now?"

Dax’s smirk sharpened as he let his gaze drift back across the hall, across the sea of silk and candlelight, to where Christopher Malek moved like a shadow with a tray in his hands, his dark eyes scanning the crowd.

"No," Dax said at last, his voice soft and final.

"Not yet."

He picked up his wine again, the glass catching firelight like a jewel.

"Let him think the night is over," Dax murmured, a low edge of satisfaction in his tone. "Let him think I’ve forgotten him."

Tyler inclined his head once, perfectly.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

And so the King of Saha sat back in his chair, every inch the picture of ease, while beneath the surface a new hunt had already begun.